


Roses that in Deserts Bloom

by Panic_CelestialInk



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/M, Pre-Relationship, Romance, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-17 01:25:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9298028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Panic_CelestialInk/pseuds/Panic_CelestialInk
Summary: After the Promised Day, Miles has been sending Major General Olivier Mira Armstrong reports on how the reconstruction of Ishval as progressed.Now, the Major General has decided to visit Ishval and see the reconstruction with her own eyes.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For once, I wrote something that isn't a Greelingfan. Big shock, I know. But, this story was written for my mother. She loves Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood as much as I do, and it was her encouragement that got me posting stories in the first place. She found one of my Greelingfan fanfics lying on my desk, read it, and said I had to share it with others.
> 
> Anyway, she was feeling really stressed out and sad, so I wrote this for her, and she said I must post it. Hope everyone enjoys it.

To most people, Briggs was completely different to Ishval. At Briggs, the cold wind howled like a demon, tearing into unwary travellers and ripping them open to their marrow. The mountains towered over everything, reminding people exactly how insignificant they were in comparison to the brutal majesty of the peaks. At Ishavl, the rocks cracked from the infernal heat of the sun—a heat which leeched every fleck of moisture from a person until they collapsed on the dunes, another dried husk for the sands to devour.

 

Still, Olivier could see some similarities between the two environments. They were places where only the resilient could survive. Now, that was something she could respect. She braced herself as the steam-train hissed and shuddered to a stop. The carriage—which had been full of over-dressed, Amestrian tourists—emptied out, as Olivier leant back in her seat, loosened her blade in its sheath, and drummed her fingertips against the edge of the windowpane. A glance out of the window showed her the platform outside. It looked the same as the dozens of others she’d seen over the years: Passengers screaming at each other, women chasing after giggling children, men huddled together with their heads bent over newspapers. The only real difference was that the majority of the people outside were Ishvallan, with dark skins, red eyes and white hair.

 

She sighed, standing up and grabbing her suitcase from the luggage rack above her head. She glanced in the window again, this time catching a glimpse of her own reflection. She wasn’t stupid—she knew she was a specimen of feminine beauty, and she had used that once or twice to her advantage when plying men for information. However, she preferred to be known for her leadership skills, rather than her thick mane of golden hair and deep blue eyes. In preparation for her trip to Ishval, she’s braided her hair out of her eyes, and abandoned her fur-lined military coat for the usual uniform soldiers wore in the eastern part of Amestris. She turned her back on the reflection, walked briskly out of her compartment and stepped onto the platform. She scanned the crowd, but she couldn’t see Major Miles anywhere. She tapped her foot on the floor. Usually the Major’s dark skin made him stand out—but, here amongst his people, finding him was like looking for a specific piece of hay in a haybale.

 

“Sir!” a sharp voice said behind her.

 

She turned and almost smiled at Miles’ smart salute. “At ease.”

 

He relaxed. “Did you have a pleasant trip, sir?”

 

“The train was over-crowed, noisy, and full of annoying tourists. But, not as bad as a Drachman raid.”

 

“That’s good.”

 

“How’ve you been, Major?”

 

To a listener, she would have sounded brusque, but she and Miles had been through so much together that she knew he could hear the real concern in her voice. 

 

“Very well, sir. My wife prefers being stationed in Ishval. She says the heat is easier to handle than the cold.”

 

“Good to hear, Miles. And, I appreciate the regular reports you’ve been forwarding to me.”

 

Technically, Major Miles had been placed under Colonel Mustang, while Miles remained in Ishval, so she had no right to receive duplicates of the reports. But, she had little time for such technicalities. Miles was her subordinate, regardless of who he’d been forced to work for, and he acted as such.

 

“It’s no problem, sir. I appreciate you keeping it quiet.”

 

She almost laughed. “Of course, Miles. You know I would do no less. The last thing I need is for my second-in-command to be court-martialled for such a petty offence. Now, I assume you have a full debriefing planned, at a more private location?”

 

“I did, but unfortunately Colonel Mustang requested my presence for the entire day.”

 

“Why am I not surprised? It sounds like the typical, petty move Mustang would make. How he ever won the loyalty of such fine officers like Hawkeye and Havoc is beyond me.”

 

“He treats his subordinates very well, sir.”

 

“I suppose I’ll give him that. Now, about the debriefing?”

 

“I managed to find someone who can give you a full debriefing. Someone who has intimate and detailed knowledge about Ishval.”

 

“Oh?” Olivier raised her eyebrows. “Who?”

 

Miles motioned with his hand, and a person moved through the crowd. She recognised him instantly, not from the huge “X” shaped scar across his forehead, but from the intensity of those blazing red eyes. He’d grown out his hair, and he’d actually gained some muscle since the Promised Day. Not that he looked like her brother, Alex, who had the most ridiculously over-inflated set of muscles, she’d ever seen. No, Scar reminded her of a powerful, _masculine_ , predator. He proudly displayed the tattoos winding up and down both his arms. But, the one major difference she noticed was that the blistering rage in his eyes was gone.

 

“Ishvallan,” she said levelly.

 

“Major General Armstrong.”

 

“I assume you’re the one Miles recruited to give me the debriefing?”

 

“Yes. He said you needed an insider’s view on what’s been happening in Ishval over the past few years.”

 

“I’d appreciate it.” Whilst she would keep her final judgements over Ishval’s progress for once she’d seen Ishval herself, she would appreciate whatever information Scar could give her.

 

“Great. Now, I have to go and see what fabricated errand the Colonel created to keep me from my commanding officer.” He saluted smartly, and Olivier saw a gleam of mischief in his red eyes.

 

“I’ll take your suitcase for you, sir.”

 

“Thank you, Miles.” She handed him the suitcase. “But, the sword stays with me.”

 

“Of course.”

 

“You’re dismissed, Major.”

 

He nodded and vanished into the crowd. Olivier and Scar glanced at each other.

 

“There’s one thing, I want to clarify before we begin. I assume you’ve chosen a new name for yourself?” Olivier asked.

 

Scar nodded and opened his mouth, but Olivier held up her hand before he could speak. “I know that Ishvallan’s regard their names as precious gifts from God, so I won’t ask you to divulge such an intimate detail. Just, tell me how I can address you while I’m in Ishval.”

 

“I have no problem with you calling me “Ishvallan”.” There was a strange look in his eyes as he said it, though. One that made a different heat pass though her. She cleared her throat.

 

“Good. Now, where do you want to begin the debriefing?”

 

“It would be better to debrief in a more private setting, so I thought we could discuss things over a late lunch at my home.”

 

“I’d prefer to debrief at the barracks.”

 

Scar shrugged and folded his arms. “I’m not with the military, so the barracks is out of the question. Besides, in Ishval, we discuss important matters over food. It’s tradition.”

 

She sighed. “All right. Lead on, Ishvallan.”

 

***

 

Scar led her out of the train-station, and she immediately felt the weight of the sun crushing down on her. She stiffened her spine, and followed Scar down a winding, paved road through the sandy planes of the desert. Soon, her back was slick with sweat, and her forehead dripped. She easily kept up with Scar, and, when she flicked sweat out her eyes, the man handed her a water flask without asking. She took a few sips—remembering some scrap of information she’d read about conserving body fluids—and glanced around. The landscape was strange—there was blisteringly white sand everywhere, and white stones had been used to pave the road. Large boulders of the same kind of rock littered the dunes in the distance. Yet, she could see a few patches of green, and thin glistening threads running through the planes.

 

“Is that water?”  She asked, pointing to the distant green patches.

 

“Yes. It was the one alchemical project that we allowed the State Alchemists to aid us with—we identified aquifers deep below the desert’s surface, and we used alchemy to bring the water to the surface. Some, as you can see, has been used for grazing. It’s also been used to provide water to the villages—at first through wells, until our infrastructure developed enough to allow us to have running water in our homes.”

 

“Miles explained it to me, but I have to ask, why did you participate in that project? I thought that using alchemy to create was against Ishvalla’s teachings?”

 

Instead of becoming enraged, Scar became speculative, though there was an edge to his voice as he responded. “I thought so too, once. But, before the Promised Day, I realised that I needed to embrace both parts of my brother’s teachings if I were to be able to bring about the changes I wanted in this country. And. . . Ishvalla is a creator. He gave humans the ability to create—art, architechture, chemistry—to honour him through that. When viewed in that perspective, alchemy, as long as it’s used ethically, is not that different from those art forms.”

 

“I see.”

 

“If my brother’s alchemy can help our people, then I need to use it. I think it would be a far greater sin to withhold whatever aid I can give my people as we rebuild.”

 

“And, how far is the rebuilding?”

 

“You’ll be able to see for yourself, once we get over the hill ahead of us.” And, a small smile ghosted across his face. She recognised the tone of voice he used, though. It was the same one she used when she spoke about Fort Briggs.

 

“Good.”

 

***

 

Her eyes raked over the rebuilt district of Kanda. The buildings were all made of beautiful white stone, and arranged in a neat pattern along a paved roadway that spidered out from the central market-place to various suburbs. That wasn’t to say that there was no colour in the district. Each of the vendor stalls had multi-coloured awnings which flapped in the gentle breeze. Patches of green studded the landscape—private gardens people had built for themselves. There were several public buildings that caught her eyes: The imposing City Hall on the far right, the huge hospital located near the market, the three schools—clearly identified by the amount of children scuttling around them.

  

She turned to Scar, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was staring at his district with an expression of possessive pride.

 

“It’s beautiful,” she said, quietly.

 

“Yes, it is . . .There was much that we lost, and that we can never regain. And yet, to have even achieved this much . . .” he gestured at the buildings sprawled out in front of them, “It’s more than I ever hoped for.”

 

Without waiting for her response, he led her down the path and into the city. It only took a few moments until they were between the buildings, and moving through the district. Olivier kept looking about her as she walked. She saw people bustling through the streets, whilst wearing the traditional pastel outfits of the Ishvallans. People called out greetings to Scar as he passed, and he answered them in Ishvallan.

 

Even without Miles’ reports to inform her, the way people called out and listened to Scar clearly indicated that he was an important person within the community. But, what interested her more were the glances the people directed at her. Most were curious, or carefully neutral, but there a few that were openly hostile. She met those squarely, and let a smirk cross her face, as she touched her sword hilt. If anyone wanted to challenge her, she’d show them that the Iron Wall of Briggs was just as indestructible in the desert as she was in the mountains. She’d done that before, after all, whenever some upstart decided to challenge her authority over Briggs—like Buccaneer had done when he’d first arrived at the fort. After she’d sliced off his arm, and had him replace it with weaponised automail, he’d become one of her most valuable Captains. One of the most loyal and tough—right up until his death.

 

“Would you be all right if I went to talk to some other people in the market place?”

 

She blinked. She hadn’t realised that Scar had lead her there, but now that she was paying more attention, she noted that the air was spiced with the aroma of turmeric, cayenne pepper, cinnamon and sizzling meat. Vendors shouted out bargains from beneath their colourful awnings. Bargains that involved all sorts of goods, ranging from tapestries and blankets, to fresh produce, to glittering trinkets and jewellery. A group of buskers had set themselves up between two stalls, and their energetic efforts with their instruments sent music twirling through the marketplace.

 

“I’ll be fine,” she said.

 

Scar nodded, and disappeared into the crowd, to speak to a vendor selling patterned carpets and clothing. Although the conversation was held almost entirely in Ishvallan, Olivier did hear the word “Mei” being mentioned several times. Olivier looked around, noting the movement of people in to and out of the market place. Then, she noticed them. Three young men, and one woman, watching her with fury in their gaze. And, from the way their gazes kept flickering to something over her shoulder, she guessed that they weren’t the only people in the group.

 

She rolled her shoulders, and loosened her sword in its sheath, before moving out of the direct sight of the customers, into one of the alleyways that wound out of the marketplace. As she entered the alleyway, she saw that there were a number of other youngsters congregating at the other end. A few of them were armed with knives. She stopped in the middle of the alley, and rotated so that the one group was on her left and the other on her right. She smirked, and drew her sword. Light glinted off the blade, emphasising the fine craftsmanship that had gone into forging it.

 

“So,” she asked, her eyes darting amongst her opponents, “which of you cowards wants to fight first? Or would you prefer to attack me altogether?”

 

The youngsters glanced at each other, apparently put off by a victim who challenged them. Then, the group on her left—the ones who’d herded her into the alley—charged forward. She leapt toward the wall in front of her, landed, and used it to gain extra height for her attack. She made sure her blade caught the sunlight, blinding any potential marksmen, as she angled downwards for a piercing strike. Suddenly, there was a rumble, and the ground spilt apart. A barrier of solid rock rushed upwards, separating her from her opponents.

 

_What the hell?_

 

Olivier sprang off the barrier and twisted in mid-air to land facing the other end of the alleyway, her sword up in a guard position. Her other attackers weren’t looking at her, however. They were staring at the man who’s entered the alley behind them—Scar. His hand was planted on the ground, and light still flickered around his palm. His eyes were blazing.

 

“What do you think you’re doing?” he roared at her attackers.

 

The one youngster responded in Ishvallan, and Scar glared at him. Scar snarled something, his voice low and furious, and as he spoke, the teens squirmed, and went pale. Although Olivier didn’t speak Ishvallan, she did clearly recognise her name in the conversation. She smirked as she saw their eyes widen. After a last word from Scar, the youngsters fled. Scar touched the floor of the alley again, and the barrier crumbled into a heap of rubble.

 

“I apologise for—” He leapt aside as her sword slashed through the air between them. She felt a pang as she realised she’d missed cleaving him open.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

She ignored him, and followed up the attack with three fast slashes that forced him backwards. He slammed his hand onto the wall. There was a flash of light and Olivier threw herself to the left as the ground cracked open beneath her. She landed in a roll, and came up with a thrust that would have impaled Scar had he not twisted at the last second.

 

“Ishvallan, I don’t need you to defend me. I didn’t get this rank by sitting on my ass looking pretty!” she snarled, as she ducked under Scar’s right-handed strike.

 

After that, they exchanged blows as fast as thought, striking and counter striking with precision. Had Scar been anyone else, he would have been dead.

 

And—though she hated to admit it—if she had been any less well trained, she would have been obliterated by Scar’s right hand of destruction.

 

Then, she saw an opening. She lashed out with her foot, catching him in the knee. He collapsed onto one knee, blocked the attack she aimed at his chest, but failed to protect his head. Her fist connected with his temple, and he sprawled sideways. She leapt onto his chest, and pressed the blade to his throat. For anyone else, the fight would have been over—except Scar laid his right hand on her thigh. For a moment, the two locked eyes, both panting hard.

 

“So, Ishvallan, it appears we are at an impasse. The question is: what’s faster, my blade or your alchemy?”

 

“I don’t want to fight you.”

 

As he spoke, his hand moved along her thigh, and she could feel the scrape of his calluses through the thin fabric of her trousers. Heat spiked through her core, and her mouth went dry. She briefly imagined what his hands would feel like on other parts of her body.

 

And, if she wasn’t misreading him, Scar was thinking along those lines as well. 

 

“Then why did you interfere?” she asked, to distract herself.

 

“Can you imagine the response the Amestrian military would have if an Ishvallan attacked a high-ranking official? My people barely survived the last massacre, and I have no intention of putting them through another. Besides, they were just a bunch of reckless teenagers.”

 

“If they’re going to be reckless, then perhaps they need to learn the consequences of their actions?” she retorted.

 

“The last time I checked, stupidity wasn’t a crime that warranted execution.”

 

She snorted. “Luckily, or half the population would be dead.”

 

She rolled off him and he climbed wearily to his feet. She sheathed her sword, and dusted off her trousers.

 

“I believe you wanted to show me to your home?”

 

Scar nodded. “We aren’t too far away.”

 

“Then, lead on.”

 

***

 

Scar’s home reflected him well, Olivier had to admit. It was a plain, single-storey house made from the same white stone as the other buildings. The windows were curved, and closed by wooden blinds. Outside there was a small garden with a number of vegetables and herbs growing in various pots. Each pot decorated with colourful mosaics, as was traditional in Ishval. There were also a number of birdfeeders strung up around the garden. Birds flitted around, despite the presence of several cats lounging in the orange-gold light of the setting sun. There was also a thorn tree growing outside Scar’s home, and beneath the wicked-looking branches was a prayer mat spread out. Suddenly the front door burst open.

 

“Master, you’re back!” A teenage girl with white hair drawn into a ponytail raced out of Scar’s house and skidded to a stop in front of him.

 

She executed two, hasty bows, and then fixed her eyes on Scar. Olivier took the opportunity to examine the girl. She was about eighteen, and obviously of Ishvallan descent, if her dark skin and white hair were anything to go by. She had tattoos along both her well-muscled forearms, and, though the designs differed slightly from Scar’s, they were clearly from the same type of alchemy as Scar’s.

 

“Hello, Korra. This,” he gestured at Olivier, “is Major General Olivier Mira Armstrong. Major General, this is my student, Korra.”

 

Korra bowed again. “A pleasure to meet you.”

 

“Now, what are you doing here?”

 

“Well, Miles said you were going on a date, so I thought to catch you before you left and ask you about borrowing the book by Edward Elric on alchemy. But,” her eyes gleamed as she looked between Scar and Olivier, “It seems I was a bit too late.”

 

“I’m not on a date!” Scar roared at her.

 

“Sheesh, no need to be so touchy about it. A bit of dating might do you some good. Get rid of your bad temper.”

 

“Korra, leave.”

 

“But—.”

 

“NOW!”

 

“Fine. I’ll come back tomorrow. Maybe you’ll be in a better mood by then.”

 

The girl rolled her eyes and dashed off, leaving Olivier with Scar. Olivier decided she liked this girl, with her impish sense of humour, and the way she dismissed Scar’s rage as if it were nothing. Olivier turned back to Scar, who, if she wasn’t mistaken, was blushing slightly. It made her curious.

 

“So, that girl was your student?”

 

“Yes. Her name’s Korra. She came to me about three years ago and demanded that I teach her alchemy. I refused her, at first, but—”

 

“Let me guess. She won you over with her charming personality?”

 

“More like pestered me into submission.” He growled, “Still, she’s a good student. If a bit impatient.”

 

Olivier tilted her head as she looked at him. He frowned at her.

 

“What is it?”

 

“I think being a teacher suits you.

 

“I guess. My students do drive me crazy, though.”

 

Scar shook his head as he gestured towards his open door and let Olivier enter his home first. Olivier stiffened. The plain, wooden furniture and tapestries on the walls she expected. She’d also expected to find the large bookshelves with Ishvallan writings at the far end of the room. What she hadn’t expected to find was a table laden with food in front of her. In a single breath she could identify spiced meat, roasted potatoes seasoned with salt, pepper and oreganum, slow-cooked vegetables, freshly baked flatbread made with sun-dried tomatoes and basil. It looked like the table was set for a—she clenched her jaw. She spun to face him, her sword singing as she drew it and levelled the point at Scar’s chest.

 

“What’s going on, Ishvallan?”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

“Ishvallan, I don’t like cowardice. This isn’t a debriefing, and if this is supposed to be a date, then you should have asked me first.” She tapped his chest with the point of her weapon.

 

“A “date”? Dating is what hormonal, Amestrian teenagers do. You and I . . . we’ve seen too much death and war to ever do anything as frivolous as . . . dating.”

 

“Then, what is this?”

 

“A meal I’d like to share with a woman I greatly admire.”

 

She glanced from Scar’s serious expression to the table. “I hope you realise that I can eat you out of house and home,” she said as she sheathed her sword.

 

“I think I can manage.”

 

***

 

“You’ve stayed too long.”

 

She frowned at him. “What?”

 

He pointed to the window, and she blinked. Instead of sunlight, there was a black satin sky stretching across the landscape, and decorated with hundreds of sequin stars. She shook her head. The food must have affected her senses. Honestly, sequined stars, what was she thinking?

 

She glanced back at Scar and saw that he was smiling at her. She decided she liked that expression better on him. She smiled back, and got to her feet, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin.

 

“I guess the company was better than expected.”

 

“You could stay here, if you’d prefer.”

 

She tilted her head. “Well, Ishvallan, I never expected you to be so forward—”

 

“I never meant that!”

 

She laughed. “I know. Still, I’d better get back to the barracks before the rumours start.”

 

“Would you like me to walk you back?”  

 

“No need. I have an excellent sense of direction, and remember the route well. It’s a skill that Briggs forces you to develop.”

 

“I see,” he said, as he also got to his feet. “At least let me see you to the door?”

 

Scar walked her through his home, and Olivier sighed as she stepped out into the night. Now this was something she was familiar with: a wind that carried a chill and a landscape made purely of black and white. Admittedly, it was white sand and black sky, rather than white snow and black rocks, but the sight was still a comforting reminder of Briggs.

 

She held out her hand. “Thank you for the meal.”

 

He shook it, but instead of releasing her hand, he lingered with his fingers wrapped around hers. “I enjoyed your company. Would you like me to show you more of Ishval before you return to Briggs?”

 

“You’ll have to, or I’ll never hear the end of it from Alex.”

 

With a strange reluctance, she pulled her fingers out of his grip. “Goodnight, Ishvallan.”

 

“Askari.”

 

“What?”

 

“My new name . . . it’s Askari.”

**Author's Note:**

> Done. I hope that Oliver and Scar seemed in character. I haven't written them much, so I tried hard to keep them in character. Also, I wanted their romance to be subtle, since I don't think that sappy love confessions are something either of them would indulge in. 
> 
> Also, "Askari" is Swahili for "warrior" in case people were wondering about Scar's name.
> 
> As always, feedback is appreciated!


End file.
